Lucy

"Not again. Not him anway, " Lucy said.

"What's your problem?" asked Jean.

"Cold hands, fumbling, groping, so uneducated."

"You know, he's just begginingg. He'll get better with age, we all do."

"Yes, which is exactly why you can't possibly pair the two of us together. He is green, I am expirenced. He is dumb, I am smart. He is is clumbsy, I am perfect. I don't want that fumbling fool groping me."

Bobby picked up Lucy and ran the pick harshly across her strings. The sound Lucy emmitted was not to her liking. She gave a little extra vibration on E.

Bobby tried for C. His fingers where somewhere in the vacinity of F.

"Why do I have to use this dumb old guitar. I think its strings are too warn, " Bobby moaned.

Bobby's father entered the room.

"What are you doing son?" asked Charles.

"Oh, just messing around. I just can't seem to get C. It just sounds like dirt. Do you think we should re-string it?"

"Son, those strings are fine," Charles giggled under his breath. "It's not the strings. It just takes time. O'l Lucy here, she old. She belonged to Pop. She's...well, she's probably close to sixty years old now. He used to play her on the front porch. This is the guitar I learned to play."

Charles took Lucy in his hands and put together 10 of some of the finest chords immaginable. Lucy let out a sigh of relief and joy. He walked through several more progressions and then suddenly grabbed the neck and looked over at Bobby.

Bobby was grinning. "I wish I could do that. You make it look so easy, and you're right. The sound was awesome."

"It just takes time, son."

"I know, but there are these great new songs out, but when I look at the tabs they are just crazy."

"Start with something easier, son. Take it slow and keep at it. O'l Lucy here, well, if you treat her right she'll sound perfect. There's a lot of love in this old guitar. Pop used to sit on the front porch for hours singing and strumming. In fact, if you flip her over here, yeah, there it is, look deep in there. See it?"

"Bobby 'Pop' Martin - 1947. Is that my Pop?"

"Yep. Pop made this guitar himself. It took him most of one year. But you see son, you can't hardly buy guitars like this one. The Mother of Pearl inlaid here was from shells he collected in World War II, in the Pacific. The face is Rosewood, which is extremely rare now. The strings, well they are steel, but I bet they are at least thirty years old. Bobby, they just don't make them like this anymore."

Lucy seemed to glow a little brighter.

"Wow, I wonder how much its worth?"

"Son, promise me one thing: never get rid of Lucy here. She's a very important part of this family, our haritage. She must always stay with us. Lucy here holds some very important secrets."

"Secrets? What are you talking about? Family secrets?"

"Some day, Bobby. Some day."


Lucy could feel the weight of what she was hearing, deep in her belly.